


Here With Me

by anysin



Series: Kinktober 2017 [9]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crying, Emotional Sex, Frottage, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: There are times when Stan has to wake up and make sure Ford is there. Some emotional Stancest for Kinktober 2017.





	Here With Me

There are times when Stan has to wake up and make sure Ford is there. 

Tonight is such a night. Stan has sat up on the bed and is looking down at Ford, taking in Ford’s sleeping form. He’s relieved to see that it’s a peaceful night for Ford at least; Ford is relaxed, the furrows between his brows smoothed out, his body soft and inert. Stan reaches out for him, trying to be as silent as possible with their old, creaky bed, brushing his knuckles down the side of Ford’s face. Ford feels warm beneath his touch, just like he should.

It’s insane that he’s there, by Stan’s side. Or maybe it’s insane that Stan is the one still here, beneath the same roof with Ford when he should be on the road, looking for his destiny from dark alleys and cold cars again. He had always been ready to leave at the end of the summer, and part of him is still convinced that he will have to, once Ford comes to his senses. This can’t be what Ford wants, after all. It’s too much like everything Stan ever dreamed of.

Frowning, Stan starts to pull his hand away, preparing to back off onto his side of the bed again and lie down, and hope these dark thoughts will be gone in the morning. Instead, he nearly gets a heart attack when Ford’s hand shoots up, grabbing him by his wrist.

“Stan.”

“Holy fucking shit, Ford!” Stan’s ears go red over his outburst, but he can’t help it; he hates it when Ford pulls off these soundless vigilante moves on him. “Sorry,” he says anyway. “You scared me.”

Ford peels his eyes open, raising an eyebrow at him. “If you had started touching me when I was having a nightmare, you’d be nursing a broken arm now.”

“Fabulous.” Stan scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand, trying to get his other one back from Ford. “I can usually tell, you know.”

His brother keeps holding onto his wrist, holding Stan’s hand above his face. He looks at Stan’s palm, like he’s trying to read it; the mental image is bizarre, making Stan want to squirm free even more. After a little more tugging, Ford does release him, and Stan lies down on the bed.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” he says to Ford, closing his eyes. “G'night.”

“Hey.” Sheets rustle as Ford starts moving; when Stan opens his eyes, Ford is looming over him, his other hand coming down to rest next to Stan’s head on Stan’s pillow. “I didn’t say I minded.”

Well, Stan never minds some horseplay. “I dunno, Sixer, I think I need some proof.”

Stan may be all bravado, but all it takes it’s Ford leaning down to send a tremor running through him, even before their lips touch. When their mouths do touch together, the tremor turns into shaking, and he has to wrap his arms around Ford’s neck to keep that shaking under control, from taking him completely over. He slides his tongue against Ford’s, tasting him; Ford rests his hips down on top of his, rolling them slightly, and Stan can’t hold back a moan that erupts from him. Sound isn’t the only thing he can’t hold back.

“Why are you crying?” Ford asks, wiping at the undersides of Stan’s eyes with the back of his finger.

Stan doesn’t know. It’s ridiculous that he’s crying; not that he hasn’t always been emotional, but that a mere kiss makes tears spring up to his eyes- just thinking of it heats his face with embarrassment, and he has to look away from Ford. But Ford grabs his chin, gently but firmly, and pulls his face up again, looking him in the eyes. “Am I hurting you?” he asks, as if he hasn’t been nothing but kind to Stan lately, for all their lives if Stan really thinks about it. Stan doesn’t deserve him.

“Stan?”

“N-no, you’re not.” He strokes Ford’s cheekbones with his thumb, trying to soothe him, make those unnecessary questions go away. “I’m just- fuck,” he groans, tilting his eyes downwards since Ford doesn’t allow him to move his face, “-I’m just a complete idiot sometimes.”

Stan inhales, grimacing when the inhale sounds dangerously like a sob. He looks up at Ford again, who is still looking at him closely, eyes contemplative.

“I don’t think I,” Ford says, taking a moment to lick his lips, “disagree.”

It takes a while for Stan to comprehend Ford’s words, but when he does, he bursts out laughing. He cackles, noticing that Ford’s eyes are crinkling from the corners too, indicating amusement. They still laugh too little, the two of them. “I guess I walked into that,” Stan admits, stroking his hand through Ford’s thick hair.

Ford grabs his wrist again, tilting his head down to kiss Stan on the inside of it; Stan shivers all over, more so when Ford presses down with his hips again, bringing both of their budding erections back to his attention. Stan licks his lips, glancing downwards at their connected groins. “Do you want me-”

“I want you,” Ford says, kissing him on the inside of his wrist again. And again, and again, until he rests his teeth against Stan’s pulse, making blood rush down between Stan’s legs. “I always want you.”

Stan can’t stand it; he reaches out and pulls Ford’s face to him so they can kiss again, and this time it’s almost like a battle, their tongues wrestling within the confines of their mouths and lips crushing together. While Stan is holding onto Ford, Ford moves his hand between their bodies, quickly yanking Stan’s boxers and his own briefs down, just far enough to expose their dicks. Ford grabs his own cock and lines it up against Stan’s, and the sheer heat of their connection makes Stan arch his back, move against Ford’s hand.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” Stan mumbles against the corner of Ford’s jaw, mouthing at the defined line of the bone, ignoring the part of him that is embarrassed about asking. “Isn’t it you?”

“Yes,” Ford says, wrapping his fingers around both of their cocks, squeezing them together as he starts to stroke the both of them. “It’s me, Stanley.”

Ford starts to jerk them off, taking his time first; he seems to wait for Stan’s voice to reach certain levels of noise before speeding up, stroking both of them faster and rougher, kissing at the tears that are escaping Stan’s eyes, running down his cheeks. It’s Ford, Ford is really with him, touching him, it’s Ford, it’s Ford-

He comes into Ford’s hand, thrusting against it and Ford’s own, hot, pulsing cock; when he falls back against the bed, Ford takes himself into hand, squeezing and yanking at his cock until he’s coming all over Stan, shooting his seed on Stan’s chest and stomach. Stan rises just enough from the bed to reach out for Ford, pulling his brother on top of him. Their mouths move together like they’ve always meant to be locked in a kiss, and Stan wants to believe that’s true. He’d give anything if that was true.

A sob breaks out of Stan, followed by another one. Ford is there for him, brushing fresh tears off his cheeks when they start to fall, letting Stan hold onto him like he’s drowning.

“It’s me,” Ford says, his voice solid, sure. “I’m here.”


End file.
